


Stars Fading, But I Linger On, Dear

by brandnewsoul



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandnewsoul/pseuds/brandnewsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three words. <i>We found him.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars Fading, But I Linger On, Dear

**Author's Note:**

> AU beyond all belief; originally posted [here](http://kolms.livejournal.com/18194.html?thread=1768978#t1807378) with the prompt of "i believe in anything that brings you back home to me."

Three words. That's all it takes for her to lose her composure, to drop the files that she had been handed just a moment before, all it takes for her to forget decorum and keeping a stiff upper lip and never,  _never_  letting anyone see just how much he meant to her.   
  
Three words.  _We found him._  
  
The first day is the worst. The medical team refuses to let her in at first. They say it would be too much, that she requires proper clearance and Peggy balks--because like  _hell_  does she need clearance, she's been involved since the beginning; don't they know who she is? It's not until she all but insults the character of one of the nurses that she's allowed into the room, and  _oh_ , no one could have prepared her for the sight before her. The faint hum of machinery, the team of doctors and nurses pacing and examining Captain Rogers' charts, and Steve lying there in some awful limbo, eyes closed and cold to the touch.  
  
 _We'll find him,_ Howard had told her solemnly, and Peggy let the tiniest part of herself believe him. In public, she remained focused at ever; in private, she mourned him while also offering a hopeless prayer: _Please let him come back._ It was a desperate hope, the kind that girls in the office pool had for the boys on leave who would steal their hearts after one dance and send letters once a week.   
  
At least it had not been in vain.  
  
The second day, she's allowed in to see him with minimal fuss. She sits in a chair next to his bed and watches him breathe. The color is slowly returning to his skin, but his lips are still tinged a faint blue. She thinks of fairy tales and wonders about kissing him awake. She thinks about sending him off with a kiss, believing that he'd come back victorious and greet her with another. She slides her fingers under his palm--which is still cold--and whispers,  _Wake up._  
  
On the third day, she brings his sketchbook. A week after the crash, it magically appeared on her desk. Another week passed before she allowed herself to briefly glance inside. There were a few sketches of landscapes, caricatures of the Commandos and Private Barnes, and a few pages of his neat cursive, pages that she didn't read half because it felt like an invasion and half because she couldn't bear the thought of having access to something so intimate.   
  
She leaves it sitting on the night table and tries to think of something to say, but nothing comes out.

On the fourth day, his hands are warmer. She's certain that she can see his eyes moving behind his closed lids, and she wonders if he's dreaming--if so, she prays that it's not of cold and water all around him, of ice enveloping him and blackness.  
  
On day five, the doctors theorize that he'll awaken soon.  _Of course he will,_ Peggy thinks just as a nurse comes in to inform her that there's fifteen minutes left for visiting time. When the nurse leaves, she walks over to the bed and takes his hand, just as she's done in the days before. She tells him about the search, that it's been a year since the plane went down and that it looks like the war will be over any day now. She tells him that he's a hero so many times over that it's disgusting: "Once you wake up, they'll bury you in medals," she says, and she wipes away a tear. "And when you do... once you're on your feet... do you remember what we talked about last? I've still got to teach you to dance. You owe me a dance, Captain."  
  
When she feels him lightly squeeze her hand, for the briefest of moments she worries that she's lost her mind. But then she feels it again, and she yells for the nurse.  
  
She comes late on the sixth day, after all the generals and press and God knows who else have left. The doctors and the nurses know not to question her; the night nurse simply says, "He may be asleep," and points her to the new room that they've moved him to. She knocks once, then tentatively opens the door. "Captain Rogers?"  
  
"Agent Carter."  
  
He's sitting up and has his book closed in his lap with a pencil sticking out one end. His hair is mussed and he's wearing those terrible hospital pajamas, but he's there and awake, and the sight of him almost makes Peggy want to weep with joy. She approaches him and leans down, controlled as always, even though she can feel the corners of her eyes prickle warm with tears. "It is so, so good to see you," she sighs.  
  
When he kisses her, she's reminded of that poem about hope being the thing with wings, and she thinks that if he makes her feel like this, like she's flying while both feet are firmly planted on the ground, then maybe she's worse (or better) off than she thought she was.

 

 

 


End file.
